


Just a (Not So) Innocent Bystander

by TantalumCobalt



Series: hc_bingo 2016 [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Arrest, Gen, hc_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: Neal gets arrested. Peter saves the day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic for the "arrest" square on my hc_bingo card.

They come for him outside a bank. He understands it - really, he does; it's a bank, he's a thief, not far to leap - but that doesn't stop him from freaking out. Just a little bit.

_Peter is going to be so pissed_ , is his first thought.

_What if this is Peter's doing_? is the second. It wouldn't be the first time Peter has put him in handcuffs to keep him out of the way. Usually, though, the FBI agent makes a point of doing it himself.

There are a dozen or so NYPD officers boxing him in, but it's a Marshall who approaches him. He waves his badge, flashes his gun, then pulls out a set of cuffs and slaps them on. Neal has to remind himself to breathe, to remain calm, as the metal cinches tighter than necessary.

"Whatever you think I did-" he tries, but he hasn't even got to the protesting his innocence part before he's being told to shut up. They push him into an SUV and slam the door. 

In the end, it's all a big mistake. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong person to be waiting to cross the street in front of a bank that was supposedly about to be robbed. Just another strike against Lady Luck.

At the time, though... At the time, Neal panics. Just a little bit. He twists his wrists in the cuffs, wanting them off but knowing that will only make the situation worse. The Marshall is talking with an NYPD detective who gets into the driver's seat a minute later and throws the car into gear.

"Where are you taking me?" Neal asks because he's not stupid enough to resist arrest but that doesn't mean he has to comply silently.

The detective glances in the rear view mirror as he changes lanes. "You've been in this situation before," he says, brutally honest but, surprisingly, not harsh. "Guess."

The precinct, Neal guesses, 17th according to the badge around the detective's neck. When they pull into an underground carpark and the detective hands him off to three other officers, he's pleased to see he was right. NYPD lockup is far from fun, but it's better than a secure Marshall facility. At least Peter has some authority over the NYPD.

There isn't a clock in the interrogation room he's put in and they took his watch when they searched him (thoroughly enough to get one set of lock pics, not thoroughly enough to find the second set), but Neal has spent enough time in a cell to gauge the passing of time with some accuracy. It's been twenty minutes when the first detective, Detective Carter, the one from the car, comes in. Neal refuses to say anything, asks for his lawyer. Carter rolls his eyes and leaves. Forty minutes later another detective sticks her head in and says his lawyer is unreachable. Neal pretends to be unaffected even as he curses Mozzie's bouts of incommunicado.

From there, it's a matter of waiting - an hour and a half, give or take - until Peter sits down opposite him, wearing an appropriately pissed off expression. "Congratulations," he intones drily. "You didn't rob a bank."

And just like that, the tension that had been keeping Neal upright snaps. He relaxes into his seat, grinning at his partner as he hold up his still-handcuffed hands in mock innocence. "Not even I would pull off a heist before my morning coffee."

Peter just rolls his eyes. "Come on, you're a free man - relatively speaking. Let's go, El's making brunch."

Neal leaves the handcuffs locked together in the middle of the table and follows his partner out of the room. Carter gives him back his watch, wallet, phone and hat with a vaguely apologetic expression. The lockpicks they confiscated have mysteriously vanished, but Neal is too relived to be getting out of there to care.

Once they're alone in the car, Peter turns to him with one of his patented suspicious expressions. "So what were you doing outside that bank?"

Neal grins and turns to watch the traffic crawling past through the window. It's hardly an exciting view, but it's certainly better than the inside of an interrogation room. Or a cell. "Casing the jewellery store across the road."

Peter gives him another of his patented looks, the "if you think you're fooling me, you're conning yourself" look. "Right," he says with no small amount of disbelief (he'll check it out later, if only for his own peace of mind). "Well, lucky for you, someone else robbed that bank while you were frustrating the NYPD. Your weekend just got more interesting."

Usually, Neal would protest about working on the weekend, but right now he's just thankful that he'll be spending it somewhere other than prison. The real thief probably won't be so lucky.


End file.
